32

MEMPHIS BLUES

In 2008, I received a conference call from Cyndi Lauper and her manager, Lisa Barbaris.¹

“Hi, Michael! I need help!” Cyndi said, and because my mind was so wrapped up in my recovery, I said to her, “Oh, Cyndi! I didn’t know you drank!”

“Michael! I don’t drink! I need help making an album!”

She wanted to make a dance record, and I was excited to help her with it. It was called Bring Ya to the Brink and was released in May of that year.

I had originally met Cyndi back in 1980, when she was still with her band Blue Angel and I was the booking agent at The Ritz. I adored her and was so touched when she contacted me to work not only on Bring Ya to the Brink but also, two years later—on a new project.

I got that call from her in early 2010, and she said she wanted to do something totally different.

“I want to make a blues album.”

I smiled, because I knew Cyn was always up for an adventure but—a blues album?

“Well, Michael, I know you know how to make a heavy metal record, but have you ever made a blues album before?”

“No,” I replied. “Have you ever made a blues album?

“Well . . . no,” she said.

“Then we’re on an even playing field.”

We had a bit of a laugh.

I was very interested in the project. I have tremendous respect for Cyndi as an artist and, although we were heading into new territory, I had a good feeling about it.

The following week, I went to her home on the Upper West Side and we sat in her kitchen, ate Chinese food, and pulled out her blues archives. As Cyndi recalls it: “We listened to hours and hours of music for many weeks until we came up with the list of songs that I eventually recorded for the album. We had a great time, and we had an easy time connecting to each other.”²

Cyndi was thinking of signing with an independent label called Downtown Records. The head of Downtown was an executive named Josh Deutsch, and he suggested Scott Bomar³ to produce the album.

I decided to do some research on Scott. He was a thirty-six-year-old musician, composer, and producer who had been working for years on the Memphis music scene. He had deep connections with all the local musicians, including Al Green’s band, Isaac Hayes’ band, and every major blues artist you could think of, and it excited us beyond words.

We had an initial meeting with Scott and cut two songs with him to see if he got a sense of the sound we were looking for. It worked out brilliantly. We went down to Memphis to make the record in Scott’s studio, Electraphonic Recording.

It was a thrill and delight when we started the album. Not long after we arrived, Cyndi said to Scott, “You know, I love Ann Peebles, because I adore that song, ‘I Can’t Stand the Rain.’ Do you have any contact with her?”

Scott said she lived around the corner.

“Do you want me to call her up?” he asked with a sly smile and a wink.

Cyndi’s eyes opened wide and everybody had a good laugh. They called her and she came over. She ended up singing on the track, “Rollin’ and Tumblin’.”

We were also very fond of Jonny Lang,⁴ who, when he was originally signed to A&M Records, was a teenage guitar prodigy. He is a world-class musician and, luckily, we were able to get him to perform on the tracks “How Blue Can You Get?” and “Crossroads.” Scott also suggested Charlie Musselwhite,⁵ a renowned harmonica player and band leader whom we featured on the tracks, “Down Don’t Bother Me” and “Just Your Fool.” Charlie is often referred to as the “white bluesman” and was the inspiration for Dan Akroyd’s character in the 1980 film The Blues Brothers.

BB King was also brought in, which was so exciting. Unfortunately, he was having health issues and it was hard for him to travel, so Scott went out to Las Vegas to record his parts in a small studio where BB preferred to work.

King’s vocals and guitar work were featured on “Early in the Mornin’,” with Allen Toussaint on keyboards.⁶ Allen was himself a legend in the New Orleans R&B community, producing “Right Place, Wrong Time” by Dr. John, and “Lady Marmalade” by Labelle, among many other iconic artists. He was also featured on “Shattered Dreams” and “Mother Earth.”

Everybody was in awe of guitar player, Charles “Skip” Pitts. In 1970, he moved to Memphis to join Isaac Hayes’ band, and is considered one of the greatest R&B guitarists, ever.⁷ What everyone remembered him most for was his distinctive “Wah-Wah” style of playing, and the extraordinary guitar riff he created for the soundtrack of the 1971 film Shaft, which ultimately earned Isaac Hayes an Academy Award.

When Skip arrived at the studio, we all gathered around him like little kids, begging: “Could you please play the ‘Shaft’ riff?”

He was kind enough to play it, so of course we needed to hear it at least a dozen more times. It left us with an incredibly joyous feeing. Needless to say, he was sensational on the album.

Unfortunately, Skip was not in the best of health, and although he did join Cyndi on the road at some point, it wasn’t for long.⁸ Some of the other musicians on the album joined her on tour as well, which made for some explosive and exciting performances.

The album, Memphis Blues, is a tour de force. It was number one on the Billboard Top Blues chart for thirteen weeks, was nominated for a Grammy, and the tour supporting the album went to every inhabited continent on earth.

I get full of good liquor, walk the streets all night/Go home and put my man out if he don’t act right,” sings Cyndi Lauper, sounding perfectly enchanted by the prospect, on this album’s last track, “Wild Women Don’t Get the Blues.” It’s a satisfying conclusion to a record that answers a question nobody was actually asking—Can Lauper carry off an LP of blues cover version?—with a definitive “yes.”⁹

The first stop we made in Memphis, however—before we even started recording—fired up our energy and artistic passion in a profound way.

The day before the recording was to begin, Cyndi and I visited downtown Memphis.

We took the trolley to the National Civil Rights Museum. Neither of us had been on a trolley before, and it was a bit rickety but a lot of fun. We snapped some photos while on the ride and were having a terrific time. As we approached downtown, I suggested we get off a block or two early before we arrived at the infamous Lorraine Motel—to look around.

And who we found—was Jacqueline Smith.

After twenty-six years and 124 days, Jacqueline Smith is still standing under her blue tarp and umbrella at the corner of Butler and Mulberry Street in Memphis, the location of what used to be the Lorraine Motel. . . . In front of her, two white Cadillacs are parked below the balcony of Room 306, the place where Dr. Martin Luther King took his last breath after he was shot by James Earl Ray, April 4, 1968 at 6:01p.m.¹⁰

After Dr. King was assassinated, the Lorraine continued operating and Room 306 was left intact. “The bed is made. The food tray is on the coffee table. The ashtray with a partially smoked cigarette is on the desk.”¹¹ It looks exactly the same as it did on that fatal day—frozen in time.

But in 1988, the state of Tennessee decided to make the motel part of the National Civil Rights Museum. The city of Memphis evicted everyone from the Lorraine—which was also an SRO—but Jacqueline Smith, a desk clerk, and resident there since 1968, refused to leave.

Four sheriff’s deputies today evicted the last resident of the Lorraine Motel, where the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated 20 years ago . . . Randy Wade, an administrative assistant for the Shelby County sheriff’s office, said deputies used a tire iron to force open the door to Miss Smith’s room.¹²

It was a very emotional experience. When we first got to the Lorraine, we went up the front stairs. There was a big glass window through which we looked—holding our breath—into Room 306. It shook us to the core.

When we went back down the stairs, we crossed the street over to Jacqueline, who was sitting at a desk with protest signs in front of her.

At that point, in 2010, it had been twenty-two years since Jacqueline was sitting in quiet protest, and she was still there.

As we approached her, she suddenly jumped up and started singing “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” It was so surprising—it made us both smile, which was a little unexpected, given the heavy significance of where we were.

She was very kind and started speaking to us about the civil rights movement, the Civil Rights Museum and the gentrification that was going on everywhere. She felt very strongly that the city had wasted its money on things that could have been put to better use, that resources had not gone to supporting the rights of African Americans living and struggling today. Instead, it capitalizes on the dead—Dr. King and Elvis Presley.

Memphis, which she sites as the second most segregated city in America, would better serve the teachings of Dr. King if they addressed the problems of the homeless such as hunger, drug addiction and crime rather than displacing people from the few affordable shelters in the area (in 2002 the museum displaced more people with the acquisition [of] the boarding house across the street where it is believed Ray made the fatal shot).¹³

She remains there to this day, a true hero, continuing to advocate for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s teachings.

“The well off and the secure have too often become indifferent and oblivious to the poverty and deprivation in their midst. Ultimately, a great nation is a compassionate nation. . . . No individual or nation can be great if it does not have a concern for ‘the least of these.’”¹⁴

—Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.